Every Thursday, as the drums would roll, the colourful devotees would crowd, the rose petals would float, the excited children would hop, the cars would swerve, the buses would gather, the food would overflow, the lights would glow, and I would wonder anew at the hospitability and attraction of the Abdullah Shah Ghazi mazaar. Abdullah Shah Ghazi is said to have arrived from Iraq in the eighth century to preach the brand of tolerant Islam that is still followed by the majority of people here. Many people claim to have been granted their wishes here. Apart from the faithful, there are many who flock the shrine for langar (free food) or to drink from the miraculous holy waters which, they believe, cures ailments. The shrine has remained a centre of attraction for people belonging to different religions, sects and ethnicities. Looking at the pockets of humanity which crowded the mazaar and spilled over into it’s environs, it was clear that here there were none of the class divisions that bedevil our society. All were welcome at the saint’s abode... the destitute and the rich, the ill and the healthy, the young and the elderly, the careworn and the careless, the morose and the ecstatic. Legend has it that Karachi did not suffer a tropical disaster in a thousand years because of the shrine’s blessing, because Abdullah Shah possessed the power to control sea waters. Devotees claim that the presence of this mazaar has protected Karachi from a number of tropical disasters, including the recent Cyclone Phet and the 2006 sea-storm heading from Gujarat. But the shrine could not protect itself from all who it has been welcoming with open arms and a big heart for so long. Amongst the swarm of humanity milling around it this Thursday, there were two young men who dealt it the most severe blow it has ever suffered in it’s 1400 year old history. Undeterred by the presence of a large number of women and children and the message of mysticism and peace pervading the air, they chose to kill, maim and destroy. The attack came three months after militants struck at Data Ganj Baksh’s shrine in Lahore. Abdullah Shah Ghazi’s shrine is as significant to Karachi as Hazrat Data Ganj Baksh’s shrine is to Lahore. As horrifying as the Data Ganj Baksh attack was, this time the news hit me right in the solar plexus. Memories come fast and furious. An intrepid friend and I getting our hands read, in the glow of a lantern, by a grave palmist squatting on the pavement next to the shrine.  Jaywalking devotees irritating me into honking on Thurdays while trying to get home after a long day at work. Avoiding looking directly at the drug addicts near the Mazaar who would sleep all day and come back to life as evening approached.  The eerie glow of the lights drawing my gaze again and again.  The nearby crescendo of music lulling me into a deep sleep. Visiting the Mazaar with my nervous mother to pray for my brother’s success as he was departing for college. Incense and flowers mixing with the sea air and pervading my senses as I took off my shoes to climb the interminable steps leading towards the saint’s resting place. The serene inner sanctum swarming with curious female devotees. The workers washing the dirt marks on the steps of the Mazaar, forcing us to side step the buckets of water. Now they must be washing the blood stains and body parts off those pristine steps. On TV, I can't recognise the darkened Mazaar with it's abandoned slippers, sandals and flowers. A screaming woman in sequins and red lipstick is carrying her inert daughter. Her frenzied screams  rent the air, but the girl does not stir. Three children are amongst the dead. I turn away from the thought that this devastated woman’s daughter is amongst the fatalities. Amidst the cacophony of the TV coverage, an image jumps out at me. Bloodied babes. Despite the blood staining their round foreheads and clinging to their curly locks, these traumatised toddlers are not crying.  Silent and clueless, their innocent and unflinching gaze sears my soul even as their panicked mother rushes them to hospital. The TV anchors and reporters are babbling away, police and rangers are milling about, people are sobbing, ministers are giving their usual statements, shrines are being sealed, bombers’ heads and limbs are being scrutinized, Tehreek-e-Taliban are proudly claiming responsibility for this butchery as if it is a badge of honour, theories are being put forth about how militants are striking at the very heart of Sufism and tolerance.... but it is the silence of these flower like children which resounds within me.

Clad in black, the darwaish twirls and twirls on his bare feet, so enthralled, so totally immersed as if he was about to whirl himself to a parallel dimension. A child in rags stands nearby, eyeing him gleefully. His eyes shine: he wants to join in. A group of women gather around, clapping, singing, laughing, almost in a trance themselves. The shrine of their patron Saint lurks in the background: the perfect catharsis for the wretched, the refuge of the forsaken! Filmed not long before the bomb-blast at the Pakpattan shrine, Laal’s latest video “Fareeda” pays homage to the Sufi saint, Baba Fareed Gunjshakar. Put to music, his simple yet profound poetry is a delight. Hailed as the first known Punjabi poet, and father of the language, Baba Fareed is an iconic figure in the history of the subcontinent, and especially that of Punjab. He gave up life in Dehli to settle in the small town of Pakpattan and despite being well-versed in the official languages (Arabic and Persian) he went against the literary grain and chose to write in the vernacular.  His thought endeared him to Muslims and Hindus alike; it is no small feat that the scared scriptures of the Sikh faith include Baba Fareed’s poetry! A red shade of tolerance For Laal, a band from Lahore that has become popular for bringing revolutionary music to the forefront, this song was not only an attempt at rediscovering Baba Fareed’s heritage as a Punjabi poet and condemning the recent string of attacks on shrines and the loss of innocent lives, it also meant re-discovering a strain of Sufi thought which has a special significance for South Asia: a more progressive strain which, according to the band, promotes inclusivity, harmony and is perhaps less rigid and much more sensitive to women’s rights etc than the more austere or “fundamentalist” versions in vogue today. Good Muslims, bad Muslims, American agenda There seems to be a catch to this story though. Post 9/11, promotion of Sufism over what is considered the more “dangerous” aspects of Islam, seems to have become the official American imperialist policy. Everyone seems to be jumping on the Sufi bandwagon, without any understanding of the issue whatsoever. Countries like Morocco and Algeria are said to be fighting militant Islamic insurgencies with Sufism because the latter is "devoid of any political ambitions". A neat dichotomy is thereby fashioned, a dichotomy between the 'Good Muslim' who is modern, secular and supports US imperialist and interventionist policies versus the 'Bad Muslim' who is pre-modern and thereby resists such interventions. The inconvenient truth about Sufism In two recent articles published on various online blogs, Qalandar Bux Memon, editor of Naked Punch, problematised this fascination with Sufism. He points out that as experienced today by the majority of our population, Sufism is linked to a deeply hierarchical and exploitative system whereby descendants of the Sufis exert total social, economic and religious control over the poor masses. It has also developed fatalist and escapist tendencies, which ensure that people accept their fates and never question the status quo. Which of course perfectly suits the designs of the Empire as well as those of local elites! Not every Sufi is a saint Laal’s lead vocalist and guitarist, Taimur Rehman, who is also a Professor of Political Science at LUMS, agrees. He points out that what Laal is attempting to emphasise are the progressive aspects of Sufism, perhaps what Qalandar Bux Memon identifies as “true Sufism” i.e. the philosophy of the local saints like Baba Fareed themselves, as distinct from its present pro-elite and pro-imperialist manifestations. And this philosophy may contain ideas that undermine the edifice of imperialism and the “war on terror”: a call to arms against exploitation and occupation and in support of social justice and people’s rights over their lifeworlds. Such aspects of Sufism prescribe active rebellion against religious and economic tyranny alike. It is a far cry indeed from the apolitical and docile philosophy that the imperialist powers and its cronies are trying to promote. Laal’s video includes a dedication to the “plurality, diversity and all the colours of Islam”. Sufism as a whole may or may not be “better”, but perhaps that is the wrong question altogether, says Taimur Rehman. All colours of Islam should be respected, and the problem with “fundamentalism” is precisely that it denies this plurality and this respect for other traditions within or outside Islam. According to the band, there is also a dire need to preserve these shrines and the original thought of these saints as our scared cultural heritage, and their video is an attempt to bring this to the attention of mainstream media. Us versus us versus us The sort of collective amnesia we engage in is troubling to say the least. It takes a skewed view of history and defines it as fact, ignoring other, equally or perhaps way more legitimate narratives in the process. The history of South Asian Sufism as a revolutionary political and cultural force is exactly such a narrative.  The Empire’s cultivation and use of “fundamentalist Islam” against Communism thirty years ago precisely because exclusivist, violent and conservative ideas were useful then for its mission , and now of fatalist, escapist and apolitical Sufism against the same “fundamentalist Islam” because of its changed priorities is another such example. Our crucial task then is to snap out of this convenient feel good amnesia, and re-discover other narratives of what can only be called, other histories. In this process, we need to be careful not to fall into the Imperialist trap: the project of re-discovery needs to be done for the people, by the people and as a form of resistance to the exploitative status quo and in order to open up new spaces for religious, cultural and (most importantly) political maneuvering rather than at the behest of the Empire and the local elites which are simply out to preserve their own interests.

The resting place of Baba Farid Ganjshakar at Pakpattan, which was attacked last month, became the fifth sufi shrine to be destroyed in the past few years. Security agencies say after the mass attacks on mosques, sufi shrines are now under threat as well. These assaults on our holy sites are slicing through our social fabric, and here’s why: People of Pakistan, especially in Sindh, have long been known as followers of sufism – the mystical interpretation of Islam – and shrines are symbols of their devotion. Destroying them is an outright attack on a system based on deep introspection, great kindness, a battle against the ego and devotion to God’s infinite love –characteristics our brutalised society needs to hold on to, not let go off. Sufism is centered around the idea of presence – bringing acute awareness and, therefore, gratitude to our everyday actions. Once a sufi has achieved this practice, he devotes himself to subduing his ego – the force that dominates most of our actions in everyday life. This helps his essential or divine self to rise up and seek its source. All of this is done with the utmost care for peace. As the sufi works to eliminate his ego, he automatically acquires a sense of serenity. And the slow chipping away of the ego-based self is an automatic prescription for non-conflict with those around him. In our war-ridden society, where bombings, gun battles and attacks have become everyday events that even children have begun to brush off as ordinary, this search for peace is precious. I feel that all our efforts, especially today, should be to preserve and spread our sufi tradition and heritage. As the Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron once said, “If we want there to be peace in the world, we have to be brave enough to soften what is rigid in our hearts, to find that soft spot and stay with it. We have to have that kind of courage and take that kind of responsibility. That’s the true practice of peace.”

The Islamic New Year has arrived, but instead of the celebration that we see in other religious traditions, there is mourning and reflection because of the martyrdom of Imam Hussain (RA). There is an exhaustive amount of literature on the history of this tragic event in the canons of Islamic thought across all the schools of thought, but it is not the historicity of the event itself which is of concern but the existential significance of it. Religious literalism can be best described as grasping for excruciating detail of the event, usually steeped in antiquity, whilst forgetting to draw from these events, stories and traditions their  rich moral meaning. Literalism ignores the latent ethical symbolism of religious events and ignores the spirit for the sake of the letter. The Karbala story The best account of Karbala, particularly in the South Asian context which pays attention to the influence of the event is Syed Akbar Hyder’s, “Reliving Karbala Martyrdom in South Asian Memory.” Hyder notes that richness of the Karbala story, a story born in tragedy, a symbol of resistance against tyranny and a beacon of hope for those who suffer injustice. It is quintessentially a story of epic struggle and has been a source nay a reservoir of inspiration for not just Muslims but non-Muslims as well. Notably Gandhi, an exponent of pacifist resistance cites the example of Hussain RA, when he says:

I learnt from Hussein how to achieve victory while being oppressed

The tendency to see Husayn as the model of martyrdom and bravery continues, of course, in the poetry written after Sana’i by Persian and Turkish mystics, and of special interest is one line in the Divan of ‘Attar (nr. 376) in which he calls the novice on the path to proceed and go towards the goal, addressing him: Be either a Husayn or a Mansur. That is, Husayn b. Mansur al-Hallaj, the arch-martyr of mystical Islam, who was cruelly executed in Baghdad in 922. He, like his namesake Husayn b. ‘Ali, becomes a model for the Sufi; he is the suffering lover, and in quite a number of Sufi poems his name appears alongside that of Husayn: both were enamoured by God, both sacrificed themselves on the Path of divine love, both are therefore the ideal lovers of God whom the pious should strive to emulate. Ghalib skillfully alludes to this combination in his tawhid qasida: God has kept the ecstatic lovers like Husayn, and Mansur in the place of gallows and rope, and cast the fighters for the faith, like Husayn and ‘Ali, in the place of swords and spears: in being martyrs they find eternal life and happiness and become witnesses to God’s mysterious power.

Some people worship God to gain His gifts; this is the worship of the merchants.  Some worship Him to avoid His punishment; this is the worship of the slaves.  Some worship Him solely to show gratitude towards Him; this is the worship of the free!

Its founder Dr Marwan Al-Dawoud said donating blood was a way for Muslims to show their devotion as well as saving lives...... What we're saying is that this is a time when we feel that Imam Hussein gave something of himself.  "Use that message and give blood because it's something that is good for society. "It's saving life at the end of the day and there is no greater gift from God."

Conservative elements have always spoken against music. I remember the introduction of music classes at Punjab University stirred up a storm among the Islami Jamiat Talaba (IJT). The IJT also threatened to “physically resist” music classes on campus. It was heart wrenching to see them marching hand in hand to condemn art. What would life be without music? It is a reminder of how things once were, an indication of how things are, and a view of where society is headed. Music is being successfully taught at some colleges including Kinnaird College, where I am one of the students studying Indian Classical Music. I sometimes wonder how it spreads vulgarity. There is a thin line between freedom and being offensive, and if the equilibrium is maintained than why worry? Music not only gives me a sense of being complete but also teaches me to believe in myself. It’s the food of the soul indeed. The level of ignorance shown by the conservative elements has always faltered the growth of performing arts in this part of the world. I remember being enthralled by a BBC Channel Four’s documentary, Sufi Soul: The Mystic Music of Islam. During this fascinating program, William Dalrymple talked to a traditional Islamic religious leader about their attitude to music. He asked why music was so frowned upon when the Islamic world had produced some of the most talented musicians in the world. The man half-smiled sadly and said that they were wrongdoers and would be punished. Perhaps the lasting power of Sufi music will drown out the less tolerant interpretations and visions of Islam. Some orientalist scholars believe that Sufism was essentially the result of Islam evolving in a more mystic direction. For example, Annemarie Schimmel proposes that Sufism in its early stages of development meant nothing but the internalisation of Islam. Louis Massignon states:

"It is from the Qur’an, constantly recited, meditated, and experienced, that Sufism proceeded, in its origin and its development." “Sufism’s dynamic and diverse musical traditions have made it accessible and meaningful to a wide audience within and beyond the Muslim world, as with mystical traditions in all religions, the pursuit of unification with the divine brings the rigorous demands of asceticism and contemplation, abandonment of materialism and of the self.”

At the risk of sounding judgemental, let me state flat out that “Coke Studio” is the place where a revitalisation of folk culture is endeavoured by slaughtering it. A not-so-thoughtful cogitation, in this case, has led people to believe that through commercialism a win-win situation can be achieved to the benefit and amusement of all the stakeholders, i.e. the producers, the conglomerate and the MTV generation. The idea clicked. The “Coke Studio” fad is running amok. Social media is replete with ‘Naulakha Charkhas’ and ‘Jugni’. Rohail Hayat seems to have acquired the status of 'god of music'. Rambling on about the latest episode of “Coke Studio”, and the wonderful ‘stars’ is enough to make one an expert on contemporary music. Sufism is in the air. Meesha Shafi and Atif Aslam are new protagonists of Sufi thoughts that, till now, were terra incognita for the urban middle-class youth. Money is pouring in. Everyone - as was the plan - is getting their due share. However, what is being missed out, amidst this entire episode of exhilaration, is the culture itself. The soul of culture is being sucked out, and that too so quietly that no one seems to have noticed. The fact of the matter here is that it is not the culture itself that is being celebrated. It is being experimented with in a way that is uninspired and harmful. Many movements can be cited in the West that set an outright challenge to the then prevalent cultural discourse. The modernist streaks of literature and art did a lot to revive what had been lost during the age of enlightenment, i.e. religion and culture. Whereas, on the other hand, surrealist and Dadaist movements called out bourgeois culture by rejecting many popular trends. In post-modernist traditions, the lines between high and popular culture seem to be blurred. The genres of music are being experimented with by infusing the traits together. The point is, each and every upshot of the above cited instances imparted something enriched to society, by adding to the cultural and artistic traditions. This is in stark contrast to trivial experiments like “Coke Studio”. If we strictly stick to music only, the Qawali or Sama was the most popular genre of music. The great Amir Khusroo was the one who introduced this genre to the subcontinent, which would become so popular and widely celebrated that a large chunk, if not all, of poetry of popular Sufi poets were acknowledged through Qawali. Qawali is an indispensable part of popular shrine culture that has been attracting the masses for centuries in the Indian subcontinent. In Pakistan, these were the Sabri brothers, Aziz Mian, Farid Ayaz, Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and many others who took it to new acme. The melody of a Qawali is the melody of the masses. So, in line with the collective cultural consciousness of the locals, Qawali is the only indigenous genre of the music that can enthral people, irrespective of their social status, caste, creed or religion. The process of industrialisation and urbanisation started during Ayub's era, but it was not until the end of Zia’s regime that urban pop music started emerging to fore. That was a response of the urban youth to severe curtailing and repression of cultural and social development of a once dynamic society. The 80’s and 90’s are hailed as the heydays of Pakistani pop music. This was a time when Junoon, Nazia Hassan, Vital Signs, Alamgir and Bunny held sway over popular music in Pakistan. The stage was all set for a vibrant pop music industry in the region. Then, owing to the underlying seeds of radicalism sowed over the years, it started to fall apart at the end of the last century. Pop stars opted to band themselves with religious organisations and some joined the conspiracy theorists’ bandwagon – the antithesis of art and music. Musharaf’s confused-to-the-core enlightened moderation proved to be the last nail in the coffin for, the once prospering industry, when the highly tortuous socio-political conditions started taking their toll. That’s where “Coke Studio” made its entrance. Meeting with the commercial needs of a rapidly expanding electronic media culture, folk culture was distastefully incorporated in the music vestiges and the outcome was a commercial success. The phenomenon, notwithstanding, cannot be accepted as some kind of a development by any standard of music and art. This is more of a distortion of ‘original’ than a revivification. The right way to go about it would be, utilising the rich folk music and poetry traditions, as a foundation in lieu of making a horrible blend out of it. A case-in-point in this regard is the highly ingenious work of Ismail Darbar and A R Rahman who have churned out enchanting numbers lately incorporating the folk traditions of the subcontinent. In a nutshell, you cannot make Justin Bieber sing ‘Kalaam of Bulleh Shah’ in Led Zeppelin style. By doing that you are making a fool out of all three. Read more by Suleman here, or follow him on Twitter @SlmnAkhtar  

The melodious voice became clearer as I walked towards the shrine. And just as I started up the stairs separating the dust of the polluted world from the spiritual atmosphere of the place, the lyrics became discernible as well,

“Tajdar-e-Haram, O Nigah-e-Karam...” (King of the Haram, look upon us with mercy...)

“Whatever is meant for you, […], is bound to come to you. It may have to come all the way from Istanbul to San Francisco, or even by a more roundabout route, but it will come to you.” – Sheikh Mozaffar Ozak

“Come, come, whoever you are Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving, It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times Come, yet again, come, come.”

Ka’aba al ushaaq ba-en shud muqaam , Har ke naaqis anja shud tamaam (This place is the lovers’ temple of God. Each comes broken... all leave whole)

I might be wrong but I believe I can almost imagine her. I can imagine her thoughts, her anguish, her pain and her emotions. I can imagine her heart nagging her as she would watch those numbers, those scenes of brutality, death and destruction on television, newspapers and social media; feeding on the truth and on Western propaganda against Syrian President Bashar al-Assad. I can imagine as she would study extremist religious content and wake up every day feeling that everything she has done, everything she is doing, this whole world, is so pointless. She should rather be doing something for her real life – her afterlife. She should do something for her brothers and sisters being killed, raped and wounded in Syria. So Aqsa Mahmood, a 20-year-old British woman of Pakistani origin, left her home to go to Syria last year where she joined the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS), married an ISIS fighter and moved on to Iraq. I am not apologising for her, I am not even justifying her actions or showing sympathy for her. She does not deserve it. I am just trying to understand her. It is painful and unfortunate because she was someone who, apparently, had the opportunity to achieve so many other things. Yet, her emotional depth, will and strength of character to feel the pain of others and to work for them in the way she deemed right, made her take the path that she did. In the process, however, she has been wasted and destroyed, because she went off in the wrong direction. And she wasn’t the only one either. There are many others like her with similar sentiments, who have ended up where she did. Another 26-year-old Malaysian doctor, calling herself ‘Shams’ on social media, also travelled to help in Syria, joined ISIS and married an ISIS fighter because she believed it was her ‘duty’ to help her brothers and sisters. If Aqsa Mahmood’s parents are to be believed, and I admit they are not the best source since they must be scared for themselves and her siblings, there was no other fundamentalist involved; no one egging her on to the path she took. She was an integrated member of the society and attended college as a successful student. She only studied religion on her own, as highlighted by the phrase the media has been using for her – she was a ‘bedroom radical’. This puts question marks on a lot of things. While it is true that we only see what we want to see, no one is born knowing what he/she wants to see. While of course our disposition plays a part, it is the society and our experiences which shape our paradigm. So before anything else, her radicalisation puts a question mark on the British society. In the larger context, it also puts a question mark on the actions of several governments, for example the USA, Saudi Arabia, Britain itself among others. But more than anything else, it puts a question mark on Muslims and their interpretation of Islam. I know the popular argument; the one presented by people of all religions whenever they tend to disagree with interpretations of religion: this isn’t what our religion really is, this isn’t real Islam. One might question, what is then? For some, Islam is, apart from some basic injunctions and boundaries, exactly what the believer understands it be, at least for those of us who bother to think. For others, unfortunately the majority, real Islam is the Islam that the clerics present, the radical Islam. This Islam is the one that drives ISIS, Taliban, al Qaeda and their cohorts; the Islam that is based on the literal interpretation of some of the Quranic text and the Islam that was indeed practised centuries ago. It is the Islam that is out-dated for the realms of the contemporary world. What religions need today is the adoption of the spirit behind the religious texts and the practice of prophets; what Muslims need is Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) political sagacity and pragmatism, his kindness and perseverance; we need the rationalism of Mu’tazilites and the open-mindedness of Sufis. We need to learn to care about this world and its people; we need to understand that the way forward for any religion in the contemporary world is through its ability to instil compassion and humility in humans and to work for the economic wellbeing and scientific progress of the world at large and not fighting or conquering others. Perhaps learn a bit from the people who, according to us, control the world through economic means and whom we claim to understand and know. And above all what we need is to live in 21st century – not in seventh century like we have been living for the past 1400 years. We need all this and more. On one hand, I imagine Aqsa Mahmood, ‘Dr Shams’ and many others like them could have led a different life had they not set out on the path of violence and militancy. On the other hand, however, I imagine their wasted life and imminent deaths for fake words and false promises. The life that is leading them to nothing but what they set out to cure: death and destruction. And this comparison, this imagination is so heart rending that I don’t want to imagine anyone else like that again, ever.

What an opening! The much-awaited Coke Studio season seven begins with the hope of fresh music, sounds, return-to-roots and much more. Strings have teamed up to become the sound producers of a huge franchise even though they have no prior music production experience. It was but expected that, apart from picking all the right people, their overall presentation would be a ‘celebration of strings’, given Bilal Maqsood’s love for the guitar. Episode one fared well and stumbled a little as well, but gave much to celebrate. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x25xopb_coke-studio-pakistan-season-7-episode-1-promo_music[/embed] Ustad Raees Khan and Abida Perveen: Mein Sufi Hoon Who can go wrong placing these two maestros together? It was a joy to see someone with the stature of Ustad Raees Khan in Coke Studio and what better way to celebrate ‘strings’ than to celebrate the sitar! Abida ji’s and Ustad Sahab’s juxtaposition in front of each other was a brilliant visual placement and was well-captured by the camera. However, coming to the song itself, one needs a superb maestro level producer to really be able to arrange and pull off the performances of such experienced stellar musicians. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Coke Studio Facebook page[/caption] The two giants remain largely ‘separated’ throughout the song. Ustad Sahab’s Alaap was followed by Abida ji’s singing which was then followed by Ustad Sahab’s solo and then Abida ji’s (and the drum’s) crescendo. The sitar should have been given the space to ‘talk’ to the song directly. A continuous memorable short sitar melody should have been woven into the song such that without it, the song would seem empty. There were many places where there could be a ‘nok-jhok’ between the vocalist and the sitar which would have created more balance in the song, but we never got to experience that beautiful possibility. Overall, the two flowed beautifully in parallel, but never did meet. And that is where it fell short. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2696w0_ustaad-raees-khan-abida-parveen-mein-sufi-hon-coke-studio-season-7-episode-1_music[/embed] Sajjad Ali: Tum Naraz Ho Before regaling his songs, one should commend Sajjad Ali’s style. The man just looked dapper! The casual top unbuttoned black shirt gave a hint of how comfortable he was with his surroundings and the ease with which he was going to own the song. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Coke Studio Facebook page[/caption] The overall “Coors” stringed sound was a great start to the song. Sajjad on the flute was a perfect complement and of course we all love him – even when he whistles! But again, there were moments when the song could have gone a notch up – the harmonies were largely wasted. Instead of humming and singing the same lyrics in different pitch, the harmonies could have vocalised ‘sargams’ instead – something that he himself is very good with. Strings gave tribute to ‘strings’ by bringing Faraz Anwar in this song – a fine, skilful musician and guitarist of Pakistan. However, his hurried ligardos and hammer-ons did not do anything for or in the song. Though his technique was spot on, Faraz’s solo was largely forgetful. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2696pn_sajjad-ali-tum-naraz-ho-coke-studio-season-7-episode-1_music[/embed] Niazi brothers: Lai Beqadraan Naal Yaari Another fresh and great choice for Coke Studio! Loved the way they worked the mike, performed, entertained and sang! The opening mandolin piece by a scion of the Taffoo family, Ustad Tanveer, was a great inclusion. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Coke Studio Facebook page[/caption] Just like Abida ji brought the Sufi heart of Sindh in her song, the Niazi brothers brought the robustness and the celebratory mood of Punjab to us. Again, flautist Sajid Ali was perfectly in sync with the song, as was Ustad Tanveer’s mandolin interjections with Babar Khanna’s dhol; even Faraz delighted in his little riffs! The Niazi brothers are capable of far more vocal versatility and it would have been even more delightful had they experimented a bit more. But I guess the mere thought of tinkering with a folk song popularised to international level by your father can be a bit daunting! But then again, isn’t this what Coke Studio is about? [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2696vq_niazi-brothers-lai-beqadraan-naal-yaari-coke-studio-season-7-episode-1_music[/embed] Asrar: Sab Aakho Ali Ali It is heartening to see Coke Studio embrace freshness and Asrar’s uninhibited vocals were a great addition to the line-up. His first properly produced song seemed to be greatly enjoyed by all musicians as maybe there was no ‘pressure’ to measure up. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Coke Studio Facebook page[/caption] And how lucky is Asrar to get Aamir Zaki as the guest musician on his song? Zaki’s first solo was soulful and restrained; he completely owned the song in the end. This is master musicianship and I hope all other musicians were taking notes! Could there be a better way to celebrate strings? [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2696p1_asrar-sab-aakho-ali-ali-coke-studio-season-7-episode-1_music[/embed] The Coke Studio line-up is great and the first episode has brought with it great promise. Strings itself is a part of the line-up and while Ahad Nayani is superb, the guitarist seems redundant. Ahad’s bermudas maybe someone’s ‘styling and personality’ idea, but it does not make music look, appear and sound sublime. And Asrar would be well advised neither does smoke doth a true Sufi make. Here’s to hoping that Coke Studio also encourages instrumentals, and musicians aren’t just mere accompanists to vocalists. There are many like Ustad Tanveer, Aamir, Ustad Raees and Faraz who can carry off entire shows on their own. So I am looking forward to seeing the gap between vocalists and instrumentalists being bridged in the rest of the season.

In the age of the cloud, things are progressing fast and people are accepting changes coming along with it. The internet has revolutionised not only the way we consume media, but also how the media infiltrates into our lives, and into the lives of the ones who control it. Our music industry is witnessing a positive change, thanks to the internet, and new musicians with their creative music, are showing the world the amount of talent our country has. SomeWhatSuper is one such duo who recently came out with their single ‘Bandook’, a catchy dance track. But here’s the catch, it’s in Punjabi, which makes the track so much more interesting. I recently got a chance to talk to Feroz and Talha, the voice behind SomeWhatSuper, about their experience of releasing and creating the track, and using the uber cool new music platform Patari to take things forth. [embed width="620"]https://soundcloud.com/somewhatsuper/somewhatsuper-bandook-original-mix[/embed] How did you guys come up with the lyrics to the song? What’s the story behind the lyrics? For me, it’s the lyrics which are the really catchy part of the song. What is the girl talking about? I don’t understand the Punjabi bit, so help us understand the song a bit.

The lyrics to the song were not just a random fluke; they were well thought out and were inspired by the research and experiment we did with our kind of music. Two years back, we bought a random sample pack off the internet. This sample pack had bonus vocals that later became the vocals of Bandook. The lyrics, ‘Tureya Tureya janda’ are from ‘Bajra Da Sitta’ whereas ‘Dukhan Di Roti’ is a Sufi poem by Shah Hussain. We call them ‘Tappay’. A typical response to this might be that the lyrics are copied from Badshah, but these are a mix of two very old folk songs that inspired us to give it a twist with a genre of our interest and come up something phenomenal for our listeners out there. Initially, when we started on Bandook, we stopped working on it for a while, but the fact that we often found ourselves mumbling the addictive lyrics and tune gave us a signal to work on it and create something out of it. The lyrics ‘Tureya Tureya Janda’ is where a girl is expressing how fragile her life is and the gun we have on our shoulder, we should be careful with that. The other part is the man, who is responding by saying that this is to feed my sadness, misery, and pain.

Both of us belong to Punjabi families. People who do not belong to Punjabi families, even they are dazzled by the rich culture of Punjab. So the Punjabi background alone was enough to tempt us to work and experiment with Punjabi lyrics. Apart from this, we listen to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan a lot. We listen to him musically and lyrically, and that is what signalled us to fuse (Punjabi and Electronic Dance Music) for good. For us, this is not really dubstep; we call it the Moombahton style. Basically Moombahton can be referred to English bhangra beats, and to easily convert Moombahton to bhangra, the right instruments need to be selected and we did the same for Bandook. The result, although it took quite a while for us to understand the specifics and mechanics, can work for the lyrics we have selected. Besides the Punjabi family background, we wanted to aim for the domestic music industry rather than going for the international industry. Our goal is to bridge the gap between the Pakistani music industry and its listeners, which is slowly dying. The bridging would not only revive it, but also establish a stable platform for others wanting to do the same.

The production process was not a simple one. It was difficult for us, as a team, to work things out and work our way through the lengthy and hectic process of production. The anticipation and interest kept us moving along. We created around 20 demos for Bandook, but somehow failed to get the sound we wanted, until we worked on demo number 21. Even after that, we had to work on three more demos for the final product. We still have two different versions of Bandook. One is for user listening and the other is for us to play during our live performances. We have postponed the releasing of the other version for a while. Things are very unpredictable when one is going through the production phase. You can never be sure how the final track, a demo or changes to a demo will turn out. It was very similar for Bandook too; it took us two years to create the first half whereas the other half was done and finalised within 20 minutes. We knew what we wanted the final sound to be, so it was easier for us to move forward with a clear direction. Producing our own music, when your laptops are your make shift studios is quite difficult, but the journey of Bandook was very stimulating for us.

Being musicians, we appreciate art. It works as an inspiration, it can act as food for the soul or it can even complement the work we do. And that is why SomeWhatSuper and art go hand in hand. For this specific cover, our friends Raza and Amar really helped us put together a fancy and catchy cover art work. We left it at their discretion and the cover took us by surprise. It is not only different and catchy, but completely complements what we have to offer to our listeners. It made our track a complete package, added to the unique element we were banking on, and added vitality to the entire Bandook story.

Aiming for the clubs was never on our list, especially when it comes to Bandook. For Bandook to become the ultimate summer anthem is what we had in our minds; we want people blasting their cars with this song. Many of our listeners and friends have sent us videos and Snapchats of people listening to Bandook in their cars or humming the tune. To take this ahead, we have a lot more to offer but we are very concerned about how we should further progress while keeping the distinctive element people have started associating with SomeWhatSuper and the sounds we work on. Various tracks are in the pipeline right now. There are a lot of demos that need to be revisited and perfected for our listeners.

Initially, it was us who approached and shared our work with the Patari team. We got a response from Khalid Bajwa immediately and he was super excited about Bandook. He pitched a plan to take it forward through his platform of Patari. We left it entirely up to him on how he wants to promote the track. The response and feedback we got through Patari was very insightful and motivating on how we should take this forward from here. It’s been a month or so since the track was launched on Patari, we already have 20,000 hits. We are ranked as number one on their charts. I think we were very lucky to be going live with Bandook the same time Patari is growing too. We hopped on to the bandwagon. As Patari grows, we have a more promising platform to come forward to and we get a chance to grow with it as well. It is an amazing venture for the Pakistani music industry which will further expand the horizon of opportunities for all the music lovers, listeners and musicians out there.

Bandook was not an instantaneous thing; there is no such story behind it to tell. There were instances where it hit us what we want to do to with the track and the production process was steered by us accordingly. We are an electronic group and we don’t really work as a band. Although one of us is a guitarist and the other a drummer, we bring our own specialities and expertise to the table and work together as any other electronic group does. We work from our laptops, collaborate, and keep on polishing it until we like what we hear. During this process, we share the raw demos with a few selected friends, which mostly bring in negative feedback or laughter. We are currently working on four different types of tracks, where two of them are affiliated with one of the biggest names from the music industry. Our next track is completely different from Bandook. We like to experiment with stuff. We will not stick to a single sound or a single genre. Apart from this, SomeWhatSuper is also working on a 30-minute non-stop mix of a kind that has never been done before. This comes out right after Eid, followed by going live with other projects in the pipeline. The year 2015 has already started well for us and going by the plans we have, we see it ending even bigger for us as well as the music industry we cater to.

I grew up visiting nooks and corners of Lahore with my father as a weekend trip. From Lahore Fort to Data Darbar, streets of Bhati Gate to Anarkali food street, my father made sure that Lahore’s heritage was a major part of my upbringing. This urge to visit Lahore has been there in my heart ever since and I go out on the streets to replenish it every now and then. For more than a year, I have been going out to the walled city, talking to people, understanding their stories and clicking their portraits. I don’t consider myself a photographer, but I think I picked up a camera with an intention to capture their stories and to share them, at least with the people I know. We see tons of photographers every day going to the walled city, capturing its lights and its people, yet the craze doesn’t fade away. Today I thought, as one of those crazy people, I’ll share my reasons for going there in this scorching heat and mind-boggling traffic. The Walled city is a small world within this huge city of Lahore. Tourists are mostly fascinated by the architecture, but they miss out on the most interesting part i.e. people of the walled city. Yes! The thing which attracts me as a photographer is these people and their simplicity. It has a culture of its own; these people are not pretentious at all, rather they’re very humble, generous, and kind. They have sheer warmth and don’t hesitate in sharing their stories with anyone. Just say salaam (hello) and they’ll even be willing to offer you free food with a warm cup of tea. Their shops are small, pockets even smaller, but their hearts are big enough to share anything they own. During my last visit to Sonehri Masjid (gold mosque) at the Delhi Gate, a friend and I were extremely tired and had a throbbing headache. A very decent uncle sitting at his shop right across the road not only offered us water but also ordered a nice cup of karak chai (strong tea) for us. When we tried to give him some money as a token of appreciation, he bluntly refused and said,

“Aap hamare mehmaan hain!” (You are our guests!)

“Ap meri tasweer Facebook pe lagaen gi kia?” (Will you post my picture on Facebook?)

Phagwa, more commonly known as Holi, celebrated on the full moon day of Phalgun (the 12^th month of the Hindu calendar), is a festival that heralds the arrival of spring. Celebrated with colours, it is a symbolic expression of the changing of temperatures and the blossoming fields of green. My childhood memories are consumed with numerous instances from Holi. Living in a predominantly Hindu neighbourhood in Delhi, and belonging to one of the few Muslim families, we were surrounded by bright, colourful faces on the day of Holi. The enthusiastic crowd did not hesitate to smear my parents with colour the second they stepped out, making them blend in with them and their equally vibrant surroundings. Eventually, my siblings and I joined the celebrations as well. I realised that when everyone is engaged in a joyous spirit, it’s difficult to identify anyone. And that is why, Holi, as I envision it, is the perfect way to witness the spirit of universal brotherhood beyond colour, creed, caste or social status. If taken in its true spirits, Holi was never meant to be a religious festival, singled out by a certain faith. Though, like other religious festivals, it is symbolic of a legend – the story of Holika Dahan and her triumph over evil. However, the context of its celebration is said to have evolved to the legend of Krishna and Radha. Krishna, as a young boy, used to complain to his mother, Yashoda, about having a dark complexion, while his beloved Radha was fair. The conversation between a complaining son and his doting mother is narrated beautifully in a famous folk song:

Yashomati mayya sey bole Nand Lala, Radha kyun gori, main kyun kala? Boli muskaati Mayya, Sun merey pyaare, Gori gori Radhika ke, nain kajrare, Kaale nainon waali ney, aisa jadu dala, Tuu isee liye kaala. (Krishna asks mother Yashoda, “Why am I dark, while Radha is so fair?” Mother smiled and said, “Listen my dear,” “The fair Radha has dark black eyes. “The kohl-eyed lady has swept you with her magic. “And hence are you so dark.”)

“What’s in a colour? Go and smear Radha’s face with any colour you like.”

“During his time there used to be several groups of Holi singers who besides reciting libertine lyrics also indulged in salaciousness, accompanied by various musical instruments.”

Kyo Mo Pe Rang Ki Maari Pichkaari Dekho Kunwar Ji Doongi Mein Gaari (Why drench me with color spray,) Now my prince, I will swear at you) Bahut Dinan Mein Haath Lage Ho Kaise Jane Doon Aaj Phagwa To Son Ka Tha Peeth Pakad Kar Loon. (After long have I’ve got my hands on you, how will I let you go? Today is Holi, and perfect time to catch hold of you)

Hori hoye rahi hai Ahmad Jiya ke dwaar Hazrat Ali ka rang bano hai Hassan Hussain khilaar Aiso holi ki dhoom machi hai chahoon or pari hai pukaar Aiso anokho chatur khiladi rang deeyon sansaar “Niyaz” pyaara bhar bhar chidke ek hi raang sahas pichkaar. (Holi is happening at beloved, Ahmed’s (PBUH) doorsteps. Colour has become of Hazrat Ali (AS) and Hasan (AS), Hussain (AS) are playing. It has become such a bustling scene of Holi that it has become talk of the town, People are calling others from all over, What unique and clever players (Hasan and Hussain) that they coloured the entire world. Niyaz (the poet) sprinkles bowlfuls of colour all around, The same colour that comes out of thousands of pichkaaris ( spray guns)).

Hori khailoongi keh kar Bismillah Naam nabi ki rattan charhi, bond pari Illalah Rang rangeli ohi khilawe, jo sakhi howe fana fi Allah (I shall play Holi, beginning with the name of Allah. The name of Prophet is enveloped with light, He only makes us play with colours, who annihilates with Allah)

Gokal dekha, Mathra dekha, Par tosa na koi rang dekha Ey main dhoond phiri hoon Des bides mein dhoond phiri hoon, Purab dekha pacham dekha uttar dekha dakkan dekha Re main dhoond phiri hoon Des bides mein dhoond phiri hoon, Tora rang man bhaayo Moinuddin Mohe apne hi rang mein rang le Khwaja ji Mohe rang basanti rang de Khwaja Ji Mohe apne hi rang mein rang de (In summary: I saw Gokul, Mathura (birth place of Krishna) and even East to West I roamed, but I did not find anyone with a colour like yours. My heart is enamoured by your colour, hence colour me in your shade, my master.)

Khelooongi Holi, Khaaja ghar aaye, Dhan dhan bhaag hamarey sajni, Khaaja aaye aangan merey.. (I shall play Holi as Khaaja has come to my home, Blessed is my fortune, O’ friend, As Khaaja has come to my courtyard.)

After leaving a lucrative career as a pop singer, Junaid Jamshed (JJ) has evolved into a preacher and poster boy for the austere deobandi group, the Tableeghi Jamaat. He once jokingly remarked,

“When I was a singer people use to throw rose petals at me, since I came into Islam they throw stones at me.”

“We have been looking for you” “Beat him!”

“You are “ghustakh-e-ay-rasool””.

“It was not so much a case of blasphemy but a matter of incorrect adab”.

“His beloved aunty is in politics and his wife was allowed to drive but she chose not to, and his daughter worked for a short while as an intern in London.”

“You can take the boy out of show business but you can’t take the show business out of the boy.”

“After years of watching injustices happening I don’t want to keep quiet anymore.”

“All who were supposed to be my friends stopped calling me.”

It’s that time of the year again, when the most anticipated musical project of the country hits our screens and is seen dodging the pressure of incredulous expectations attached to it. Coke Studio is back with its ninth season and will stick around for the next two months – all the while retaining an essential chunk of our national narrative. People will love it, hate it, love to hate it, and hate to love it – but everyone agrees there’s nothing quite like Coke Studio. Here are my two cents on the first episode of the current season. 1. Sasu Mangay If there’s anything this song does, it establishes the singing prowess of one Naseebo Lal. After a lifetime of singing lewd Lollywood songs that are recorded just as poorly, she shines throughout the song. A lesser-moving Umber Jaswal complements Naseebo well, but never manages to steal the show from her. Produced by Shiraz Uppal, this song isn’t your typical Coke Studio song and comparisons with Bollywood are justified. However, this fits the bill for a commercial number – something Coke Studio seems to require for its sustenance. 2. Aaja Re Moray Saiyaan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bq29w9MJKTQ This one’s a quintessential Noori song: simple lyrics, upbeat music and light composition. Though many have claimed that both Noori and Zeb are way beyond singing childish ballads, we can always do with a happy-go-lucky number; not every song requires hefty Sufi poetry to qualify as serious music. Both Ali Hamza and Zeb render the demands of this song perfectly. The song instils in you a yearning for the simpler beauties of life. Go on a road trip through Pakistan and let this song be your companion! 3. Aaqa https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LekqDjknArc This song sounds just as good in real as it did on paper. The maestro Abida Parween, with the latest sensation Ali Sethi, some deep verses, Shuja Haider as the director, and some heavy dhols along the way – you get another gem from Coke Studio. Though Abida Parveen might have been under-utilised in this song, and at times Ali Sethi seems to be in a state of pain whilst trying to keep up with the Sufi Queen’s vocal chords (something he himself admits in the BTS video); on the whole the song works just as well. Only time will tell if this one goes down in history in the same league as Jugni and Tajdaar-e-Haram. 4. Jaanay Na Tu https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rweRzXdid5M The first episode of Coke Studio takes refuge from folk and tradition in the form of Ali Khan’s Jaanay Na Tu. A typical Pakistani pop number, this one’s serene and simple. It never tries too hard, and that works in favour of the song. Ali Khan’s soothing vocals gel well with the romantic, sweet melody. However, this isn’t the stuff Coke Studio favourites are made of – it’s only meant to get on the playlists of music aficionados. The first episode of Coke Studio was, notwithstanding the multitude of hits and misses, overall a good start. Since the broth is being handled by too many cooks this time, let’s see how the experiment turns out. But one thing’s for sure, Coke Studio has never shied away from experimentation, giving us some masterpieces during the process. We hope the current season has also got some in store for us.

Earlier this year, I took a trip to Multan that was meant to be an official excursion, and yet somehow proved to be a bit of a life changer. As I waited to board my flight, I “checked in” on my Facebook account, and in turn was presented various sites referencing Multan as the “City of Saints”. All I knew about Multan was that it was famous for its blue pottery and other textile items, which is why this revelation made me feel excited at the prospect of my trip to the city. Coming from Karachi, I genuinely did not expect much from Multan. Call it arrogance, ignorance, or innocence, but I had absolutely no idea what awaited me. Thus, disembarking at the Multan airport was the start of many surprises to come. The airport itself is quite small, but is unbelievably clean, and if you ignore the land coverage, it is truly comparable to its counterparts across the country. Upon leaving the airport, I realised that when my colleagues described Multan as a small city, they were not kidding. I was due to visit two branches as part of my official trip, and it took less than seven minutes to reach the first location from the airport. The trip was not a long one by any means – my return flight was scheduled for 8:00pm the same day. However, as I completed my official agenda within working hours, my cab driver calculated I had almost two hours till I had to make my way to the airport, and suggested he show me around his city. As we made our way, he gave me a historical prelude to the sites he wanted to show me. I discovered Multan, Pakistan’s fifth-largest city, was a kingdom mentioned in the Mahabharata, conquered by Alexander the Great, called Darul Aman during Emperor Akbar’s time, and recognised as the birthplace of Baba Farid, the first Punjabi poet. On our way, we crossed the Ghanta Ghar (literally translated to clock tower) and the Hussain Agahi Bazaar. This is Multan’s oldest bazaar, indicating the antiquity of the city. The streets were dotted with eateries offering a variety of edibles, ranging from barbeque items, fish, sweets and savoury items. It feels as if Multan could easily pass off as a foodies’ paradise, given the chance. A short drive ahead, we made our way to the outskirts of the city, and stopped to see its famed pottery works. Multan is known for its “Kashi” (blue) pottery works. This craft is influenced by Persian, Central Asian and Mongolian art, and its origin can be traced to the city of Kashgar, in western China. Each piece is handcrafted and hand-painted before being treated with heat, and the resulting product, though very delicate, is also remarkably durable. Each piece maintains its colour and condition, even if exposed to the harshest of natural elements, for well over 100 years. Legend dictates Multan is Pakistan’s mystical heartland, and visiting the city is considered a spiritual journey for the pilgrim. After all, each of the likes of Bahauddin Zakariya, Shams Tabrizi and Multan’s glory, Shah Rukn-e-Alam, has a shrine in the city in their honour. Though I managed to get a fleeting view of each shrine, I made it a point to visit that of Rukn-e-Alam. Having never visited a shrine before, I was not aware of the protocols, if any, which needed to be followed. To be fair, one cannot really gauge any prerequisites whatsoever from outside of the tomb, which is why you need to go in and find out on your own. In your first visit, like it was for me, it takes a while to overcome the grandeur of the external architecture of the mazaar and step inside. The domes, the intricate tile work, the floral and scripted patterns, all are testament to the creative genius of the tombs’ designers. Overcoming my initial awe and entering the tomb, I was transported to an entirely different world altogether. Decorated with lines of colourful lariyaan (flower strings), it was all unbelievably surreal. Taking a moment to close my eyes, I felt an indescribable calm wash over me. I realised there was no protocol at all – you just had to be. Everyone else was simply doing what they wanted to. Some devotees slept on the shrine floor, some chanted a kalaam I couldn’t really understand, while others just stood praying near the grave. There were small white structures around the main grave, which I was later told were graves of Rukn-e-Alams’ devotees. Upon my enquiry, I was informed these people were buried vertically; hence the small size of the graves. Right outside the tomb area is a “mannat-kadda”, which is a large sized lantern with “diyas” lit inside. A local man pointed out that for my prayers to actually be heard, I would have to place some money in the ledge beneath the mannat-kadda. Not sure how reliable this advice is. Nonetheless, the time I spent at this shrine gave me a new perspective on life in general. What does shrine culture represent to devotees who visit shrines across Pakistan? Is it just for nomads who count on getting a meal or two for free? Or is it about experiencing personal peace? Maybe there are those who have complete faith in the divine healing powers of the Sufis, or use these Sufis as a “waseela” (intercessor) to their prayers. Who knows? I do believe, however, that depending on the intensity of each visitor’s faith, these shrines provide an opportunity to attain absolute nirvana. In that moment – as I peacefully stood at Rukn-e-Alam’s tomb – I realised how, in dealing with the small stuff, I often miss the bigger picture. Looking at these devotees pursuing what they believed in, as they prayed and chanted kalaam, they seemed to connect with something bigger than themselves. And this, perhaps, is what Maulana Jalaludin Rumi meant when he said,

“Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love.”

A sense of excitement ran through me as I set foot on the Pakistan's soil. I was participating in the Urs celebrations of Qalandar Baba Auliya, the grand master and founder of Silsila Azeemiyya, commemorated every year on January 27^th. In particular, the topic for the International Spiritual Workshop, ‘Man and Human’, had gripped my attention, as I had not seen them as two different points of existence. As I was driven through the streets of Karachi, my heart paced in anticipation of meeting the current patriarch of the Silsila, Khwaja Shamsuddin Azeemi, a renowned Sufi saint and spiritual scholar. Setting foot into the festive yet spiritual atmosphere at the Surjani Township, it seemed to be charged by the energy and love of the benevolent saint, and I began reminiscing over his strive towards the enormous task of humanising mankind for over 60 years! Baba Auliya constantly reminded people of their true existence beyond their body, and brought their focus back to the surge of divine lights within them – their soul. While completing the registration formalities, I remembered his message,

“By the will of God, may my passion be your passion.”

“Hold on to the rope towards God Almighty tightly and together. Think, speak, act and live as the Prophets and men of God do. They lived in the care of God Almighty. This body is only a garment of the soul. Unless you discover yourself, you can never discover God in your heart. One who dies without discovering his soul has not ended his life different from any other creature in this world. Man is created the vicegerent of God, and it is time we all took this responsibility bestowed upon us seriously by performing muraqaba (meditation), zikr (remembrance), and tafakkur (contemplation) on the clues left for us in this universe through God’s marvellous creations.”